


The Deadly Design of a Spider's Web

by EchoesOfOmens



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: American Beauty/American Psycho, BAMF Bedelia Du Maurier, BAMF Hannibal Lecter, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, But its Hannibal so whattaya expect, Cannibalism, Car Sex, Dark Will Graham, Established Hannibal Lecter/Reader, F/M, Fluid canon compliance, HAHAHHA but not really, Hannibal Lecter Has a Crush, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is a Psychotic Bitch, Hannibal Lecter is a Softie, Hannibal Lecter is a Tease, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal is one sexy motherfucker, Hannibal is still bae, He's a good boi but things are going downhill, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I don't even know what these tags are, In case you haven't noticed there's gonna be a LOT of gore, Lol I mean LITERALLY, Loss of Virginity, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Poor Will, Porn With Plot, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychology, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Quote: This is My Design (Hannibal), Reader-Insert, Relationship with a sociopath, Sassy Will Graham, Serial Killer Main Character, Serial Killers, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Will Graham/Reader, So.Much.MURDER, Someone Help Will Graham, Vaginal Sex, What is love, With A Twist, You're Lowkey terrifying, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21884176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoesOfOmens/pseuds/EchoesOfOmens
Summary: You’re hiding a dark secret.Can you continue this existence, even under the close scrutiny of Hannibal Lecter? Working right under the nose of the FBI might not have been the wisest decision you’ve ever made, but at least your life promises to never be dull again.AKA:You’re a serial killer who manages to feel things for her victims. (Well, sometimes.) You work in the FBI as a special consultant for some of the more intense murders.(Kind of a Dexter-meets-Hannibal sort of deal—anyways, I hope you enjoy!)
Relationships: Alana Bloom & Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Will Graham/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 93





	1. Entrance, Stage Left

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hannibal fic, so this will be an interesting divergence from what I normally write. It will be a little darker than usual, but I’ll try to keep in a healthy smattering of humor and smut to keep it out of the shadows sometimes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! My first Hannibal fic, let's gooo! I hope you all enjoy it, I actually wasn't planning on having any plot to this smutfest but all of a sudden it gained some plot on its own

The silent observation of the man in front of you was perhaps risky at best—but you’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. The words of the esteemed Doctor Lecter echoed in your mind over and over: _You’re **not** to harm Will Graham. _What was it about this shy, mild-mannered young man that was so... important?

Will Graham had been among your class of trainees, but he'd never been assigned the title of _special agent_ due to his supposed 'instability.' You nearly wanted to scoff. If he was unstable, it was only because he was too honest, too good at revealing himself and those who he so perfectly understood. Will was special for his abilities, that much was true. But his gift didn't seem to hold much value for Hannibal; if anything, it very easily could spell his undoing. Still, you respected the good doctor far too much to go against his wishes. You had no desire for your organs to end up sautéed with a sweet currant sauce. 

You tilted your head to the side, listening intently to the lecture Will was giving about some newly found Chesapeake Ripper killing—something that you thought was a dubious match, but forensics had insisted for some reason—when Will’s eyes locked on yours for a moment longer than they needed to. You wanted to smirk. Yes, you _were_ conventionally attractive (the one thing you had to thank your deadbeat mother for) so Will couldn't be faulted for letting his gaze wander. People were disarmed by an attractive woman with a bright smile... even if there was nothing behind the eyes. _The most effective predators in the animal kingdom are beautiful, too, after all,_ you thought to yourself.

You offered him a soft raise of your eyebrows, as he had paused mid-thought. He shook himself and resumed, if now somewhat flustered in dictation, on his report of the wounds. 

This new victim had been artfully displayed, sure—but that was where the similarities ended, in your eyes. The weapon was different, more along the lines of a sword or a rapier than a common surgical instrument. You glanced down at your notepad and jotted down some notes about blood clotting patterns, feeling the shuffling around you as his presentation neared its end. You continued scribbling languidly, not paying your colleagues any mind as they meandered out of the lecture hall with low voices and grim expressions. 

You felt the movement of Will at the front of the room as he packed up his things, and, when he was ready, the slow wandering of his gaze over your form. 

It was only natural, after all. Your figure was healthy and well-muscled, not too lean, but still maintaining the trimness of an athletic lifestyle in the field. Your eyes sparkled with tenacity and drive when you talked about your work; even when at rest, they held many untold mysteries in their light grey depths. Your hair was cut close to your scalp on the sides and back, with a slightly longer section towards the top that you could style in any number of professional ways. Some would call you “masculine,” but you’d never minded. It was an efficient style that suited your profession, not to mention your... _hobbies_... rather nicely. After all, once you’d made the switch, you became happily aware of the fact that you no longer shed evidence all over your crime scenes.   
  


But in any case, Will Graham was currently edging closer to your seat, his gaze turned curiously towards your paper.

Below your notes on blood and tissue, you’d begun a sketch that was rather remarkable for the time that you’d spent on it. Will’s emotions had been captured rather effectively, his eyes in particular. Though you’d never admit it, it was the one thing you’d envied in other people: the ability to convey emotion through their eyes.

Will cleared his throat to announce his presence (as though he needed to—you could smell his lovely cologne from a mile away) and raised his eyebrows in approval when you glanced up.  
  


”That’s—wow, that’s amazing,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to hear it or not. “How long have you been able to do this?”   
  


“A while,” You drawled. You sat back in your chair, eyeing him as he admired your work. “How’ve you been, Will? Holding up okay after the Hobbs incident?” 

He sighed and leaned back against a row of seats in front of you, his expression becoming slightly troubled. Seeming to notice your intent observation of him, he shook himself slightly and slid his pleasant mask back into place.   
  


“Of course. Hannibal has helped me, in some roundabout way, I suppose. Though, sometimes, I wonder if I’m merely a case study to him.” Will met your eyes once more, though his gaze quickly traveled rather sheepishly to a spot somewhere in the middle of your face. “What about you? I heard you got transferred because of ‘managerial differences.’”   
The emphasis in his diction made you snort softly.

”Well, if Norman from Accounting putting his hands on my ass counts as ‘managerial differences,’ then yes, that would be correct.”

Will winced in sympathy.

“Oof. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hah. I’m not. It sucked while it was happening but I’m not complaining, now. Got me bumped up to _Senior_ Special Agent, if you can believe it.” With a seductive smirk, “Hear that, Will? I’m technically your _superior_. If I tell you to do something, you gotta do it.” 

You waggled your eyebrows teasingly before laughing at his uncomfortable expression. Blush was creeping up his neck and tinting his ears pink. 

“I’m just _kidding_ , Will! It’s not like I’d _make_ you do anything, that’s Jack’s schtick. If I want you to do something, I can just ask nicely, like a _normal_ human being.”

Will seemed to relax a little at that. He shuffled on his feet a little, as though unsure of himself, before opening and closing his mouth a couple of times. Right when he seemed like he was about to say something, the Jack Crawford entered the lecture hall with acute timing. 

“Oh, you’re both here. Excellent.” Jack straightened his coat and offered two tan file folders out to the both of you. “You’ve been requested for this particular brand of nastiness, Miss Senior Special Agent. God, that feels so weird to say.”

He chuckled at your chuffed expression.

"You'll be riding with Will, I can't spare any extra seats in my vehicle. I've got enough squints riding with me as it is." Jack rolled his shoulders tiredly as his tone became serious. "Some boys who were hiking this morning came upon a pretty mangled set of corpses. You're--you're just gonna have to come down to see what I mean. Prepare yourselves, ladies." 

Jack was already leaving the lecture hall as he threw this over his shoulder. He paused at the exit, his hand resting on the doorjamb. 

"Each of you should have already received the location. Text Bev if you need anything." With that, he was gone. 

You turned to face Will, if a little awkwardly. 

"You ready, pardner?" You drawled dramatically. 

He responded with a light chuckle as he fished his keys out of his things. 

"Let's go, Hoss." 


	2. Messages from a Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone finally found one of your month-old kills. Let's see if they can piece it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major gore and violence warning for this chapter, as we're describing the murder scene. Good luck to those of you with easily upset stomachs.
> 
> ** ALSO: I am not a doctor or a member of law enforcement so if I get the anatomical details wrong I apologize in advance

You considered yourself an artist in more ways than one. You had a knack with the pen and the page, yes—but above all, you considered yourself to be an artist of flesh and bone. The designs you created were Testaments to your power, psalms that sang your praises. If you were feeling particularly confident that day, they were love letters to yourself. 

You stood with Jack and Bev at a safe distance from Will as he took in your work. None of these people around you knew; perhaps that was part of the thrill. The thought caused electricity to flow up and down your spine, excitement like lightning on your nerves. You could still feel the couple's blood spraying on your face as you strung them up in your diorama, the feeling of pure, unadulterated _power_ as you felt them scream and cry for mercy—

You hacked at the woman's skin mercilessly, carving out artful decorations of blood and sinew and delicately plucking away the muscle fibers for your own use. Her screams fell on deaf ears as you rid her of the rest of her clothing, exposing her bare body to the chill of a Baltimore September night. Her sobs left streaks of clean skin through the blood on her face, something that made you feel especially inspired. The man across from her gagged on his dinner as he struggled to find anywhere else to look as you flayed her body for your pleasure. This, _this_ was what you lived for. 

Her body was becoming beautiful under your touch. A section of her deltoid had been lovingly stripped away from her bone, the muscle strands woven and used to be tied to the extensor digitorum that you had previously flayed open to the air. 

"Such a good girl, you're not bleeding hardly at all for me. Though the screams are a _bit_ much, dearie. You're not even the main event." She couldn't see your smile behind the surgical mask. "Between you and me, he's got it coming much worse than you have it. A few scars and some physical therapy are all you're gonna walk away from this with... if my pals at the FBI can find you quickly enough." 

You stepped back for a moment to admire your art, tilting your head from side to side. Scrolling stencilwork adorned her skin in light wounds, barely deep enough to cause permanent damage. A tattoo needle would have gone deeper than your scalpel had. Her breasts were left untouched--you knew how sensitive they could be, and that would be unnecessarily cruel, even for you--as well as the soles of her hands and feet. Your handiwork was really only torturous around her outer thighs, when she had tried to struggle when it first began: the marks were deep and bleeding more than you'd have preferred, but she quickly learned that the best thing for her was to keep still. Designs of flowers and detailed mandalas now covered most of her body; if treated by an adept physician, she would heal with very minimal scarring.

"Hey, look on the bright side. You have a _fantastic_ story to tell! _You_ got to meet _the_ Angel of Death! _Bless_ Freddie Lounds. God, I've always loved that name. It sounds _so_ much more badass than the Chesapeake Ripper, if you ask me. I hope he chokes on _his_ silver spoon."

A whimper behind her reminded you of the _real_ reason why you were here. You turned to face the man who was bound and gagged, your face contorting into something much more terrifying than before. 

"And _you_ , Jonathan Jacob Miller," You tutted playfully, "your sins are _far_ too many for me to count, but I'll try my best, for your sake. Extortion, money laundering, grand theft, kidnapping, human trafficking, torture-- _every_ **little** _sin_ that could _possibly_ land you on the naughty list is on your rap sheet. So I ask myself, _why_ aren't you rotting in jail?" 

You sighed when he didn't answer, removing your face mask to get right up in his personal space. 

"Well, it turns out, you have a mole working for you in the FBI. Keeping your records squeaky clean under this alias. We all know that you're a big-shot in the criminal underworld. But guess what?" Your voice dropped to a whisper. "That doesn't mean jack-diddly- _squat_ to _me_." 

The muffled sounds of his screaming were swallowed by the stars and empty trees. He lost his testicles and the skin on his penis was flayed away. Skin was removed from all over his body, leaving patches of blood and muscle all over him in alternating, artistic shapes. Lastly, as you looked him in the eye with not a single ounce of remorse, you removed his organs while he still breathed. 

The girl managed to pass out before that part, so she wouldn’t have any enduring trauma from that. You hoped your little FBI pals would find your breadcrumbs for her. In a final moment of sentimentality, you had called the FBI from that same burner phone before you’d started on the main event. They, evidently, hadn’t taken the bait... yet. 

You turned to look back at your most recent victim one more time, admiring your diorama from afar. The girl was slowly coming to, her eyelids fluttering as she began to scream for help. Jonathan Jacob Miller (well, what was left of him) was hanging by his wrists, his eyes gouged out and his body essentially dead. You carried with you your icebox full of his juiciest morsels, which you planned to take back to Hannibal as a gift. 

Unfortunately, all did not go according to your design. Nobody heard her cries for help, and in the end, no one came. 

You blinked rapidly, eyes focusing on Will for the first time in a few minutes. 

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"I need you for a sec. I want your take on this." 

You nodded distractedly and followed him towards the crime scene. 

"Two victims, strung up with cotton thread. The man, Jonathan Miller, died about a month ago due to blood loss. He was castrated, garroted, and stripped of his vital organs—as you can see from the empty abdominal cavity." He paused as he slowly circled around what was left of Jonathan, lost in thought. "This was a revenge killing. He was obviously a subject of hate for the killer, perhaps at his treatment of other people. I don’t want to say ‘vigilante,’ but that’s dangerously close to the vibe I’m getting. Now the girl, Nancy Preston, is a completely different story." 

Will ran a hand down his face, seeking your eyes as he talked. 

"She was treated, comparatively, with mercy. She was likely an innocent that got caught in the crossfire, perhaps someone who wasn't supposed to be wherever Jonathan was when he was taken."

You hummed, observing your handiwork with a critical eye. You loved his assessment—it was like he was enjoying picking you apart, watching as he did so to understand what made you tick.

"There are flower petal fragments embedded in the wounds at her shoulders. If I know my flowers, those are asphodel and chrysanthemums," Bev murmured almost to herself.

”Respect and adoration.” You confirmed this with Bev’s nod.

You struggled to hide the spark of excitement at Will's expression. He was utterly transfixed by your art. 

"She wasn't supposed to die," He breathed. "She was supposed to be found. These wounds—she wouldn’t have died from them. She was probably practically handed to us on a silver platter, so that she would survive. She died much later than Jonathan Miller, by almost a week..." 

Will's eyes drooped with sadness as he took on the weight of this girl's death. Indeed, it hadn't been your design for her to die. 

"The killer treated her with respect. None of these wounds would have had horrible enduring trauma. The worst wounds are on her exposed muscles in her arms, but that could have been fixed with surgery and physical therapy." 

"The killer was unlikely to leave her out here like this if she didn't want her to die. They were going to leave us breadcrumbs, so why didn't we find her until now?" You wondered aloud.

Your face lit up and you started frantically glancing around. Will followed your gaze and saw what you did at the exact same moment. A cell phone lay half-buried in the snow. 

* * *

_"God, I need you to find me! You don't **understand** —she **killed** him and I think I'm next!"_

_"Ma'am, I need you to calm down. This line is for emergencies only."_

_"She's not gonna believe you, dearie--scream like you mean it. If they don't find you, it's your own fault."_

_"Can't you hear her!? She's fucking crazy!!"_

_"Ma'am—!"_

_"Time's up, missy. Catch me if you can."_

Static followed, then nothing. 

"That's the end of the last call. Why didn't that emergency operator take her seriously?" Bev sighed, her eyes full of regret. 

You couldn't hide your smirk from your face. Jack stared at you incredulously before you managed to speak up. 

"What? We just confirmed that the Angel of Death is a woman! You have to be at least a _little_ bit excited about that. Genuine female serial killers are _horrendously_ rare."

Will made a soft sound in his throat that he struggled to play off as a cough. 

"Will gets me." 

"I—you know that's not fair. I 'get' everyone." 

Just like that, the tension in the air broke as everyone shared a small fit of laughter. 

"Ya got me there," Jack muttered. "In any case, bag em and tag em and get this whole shitshow back to the lab. You squints have a lot of work ahead of you." 

You followed Will back to his car and couldn't help but feel incredibly validated. He definitely understood you. It felt good to be seen, if only arbitrarily. You fastened your seatbelt and settled into the seat next to him, feeling your heart rate increase as you made a snap decision: time to flirt. 

"So, Will—I know you have trouble looking people in the eyes, but that doesn't mean the first place you should look is at my breasts." 

Will’s ears burned as he stammered, frantically searching for the right words. Finally, he settled on the following statement.

”I—you... that’s mean,” Will muttered lamely. “Are you mocking me? I think you’re mocking me.”  
  


”Whaaaat? Little old me? Perish the thought!” You lifted your eyebrows playfully, catching your tongue between your teeth in a goofy grin. “Though, I’m not complaining. If you _were_ looking at my chest, I wouldn’t mind. Gives me a chance to look at those pretty eyes of yours.”

You winked at him and felt something in your core stir as his blush continued to creep up into his face. You could feel his heartbeat increasing, forcing you to hide your amusement: the feeling of your inner predator wanting to leap forth and pin him under your claws. Still, he searched your face curiously. 

“You wouldn’t, huh.” It was a half-question, half-statement. “How long have we known each other, Agent?”

You tilted your head and drummed your fingers on your lower lip thoughtfully.

”I’d venture a guess, but I truly lost track of time. We met at Academy, that much I know. Otherwise, I’m at a loss.” You smirked at him from the corner of your eye. “If I were to be so bold, I’d say that it’s been _more_ than long enough to know that I’m interested.”

Will’s eyes glazed over for a moment as he became lost in thought, and you could have sworn you saw the outline of his bulge grow a little. Then, just as it had began, he slowly came back into himself, started the car, and drove to his place. 

“If we’re having this conversation, I want it done right,” he clarified. “No cop-outs, no excuses. I want this resolved.” 

Will put the car into park and got out of the car to open your door for you, offering his hand for assistance. You clung to his fingers even as he led you into the house, a sheepish smile on his face as he tried to calm down his dogs. 

You didn’t mind in the slightest. You’d always loved dogs immensely. They never asked questions, never doubted your love for them, and always came back for you, unconditionally. You cooed at each pupper in turn, generously giving out pets, scratches, and belly rubs to any pup who came sniffing. Winston in particular took a liking to you, his round eyes open and full of trust as you squooshed his cute widdle face and stroked his ears. 

Once you had thoroughly greeted each animal, you rose to meet Will’s approving eyes. He let the dogs out to use the bathroom and shut the door behind them, watching from near the door as he began to speak. 

“I want to clarify that I do have feelings for you. That is not the issue, here. I’m simply... conflicted.” He sighed and lifted his gaze to you, not flinching away from your eyes for the first time. “I recently have been feeling rather... unstable. I _don’t_ want to hurt you, ever. But with the hallucinations and time loss and everything else, the stress of my job—I don’t know if you want to deal with that.” 

You sighed softly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You’d suspected as much, from what Hannibal had told you. You weren’t a doctor, by any means—but if you had to guess, you wanted to say that it was probably some sort of brain swelling, like what seemed to happen to your father’s side of family. 

Still, your brow set in determination. People, though they hardly would say so to your face, were suspicious of how you seemed so distant with your relationships. Friends were always at arm’s length. Colleagues were just that. If you wanted to keep this lovely little life you’d constructed for yourself, you’d have to start being more ‘human’—if only to hide the monster that lurked underneath. 

You set your jaw.

”I’m not going anywhere, Will.” 

Relief made bis shoulders sag, letting his face fall into his hands. Will sighed in a content sort of way, moving into you with gentleness as he rested his forehead on yours. His hands moved up to cup your face, gently touching your neck and stroking his thumbs across your cheeks as he just breathed with you. Your arms wrapped around him in a chaste hug, reminding him that you were there, and not leaving—reminding him that everything was going to be okay. 

Will exhaled deeply from his nose, the warm puff of breath tickling your face as he sank into your hug. 

”So... does this mean we’re, like— _together_ , now?” You did your best teenage girl impression, obnoxious and nasal and totally ruining the calmness of the moment. 

Will snorted and let out a startled laugh as he remembered just who he was with. His breath was shaky as he answered you with the ghost of a smile in his eyes.   
  


“If you’ll have me, I’m yours.” 

You grinned impishly. 

“Gee, I like the sound of that,” You teased. Your face turned somber even as he returned your smile. “Honestly, Will—I like you a lot. I have ever since we graduated. If you’re okay with it, I would be honored to date you.” 

This was not a lie. You respected Will, found him fascinating as an investigator—he was an impressive and worthy foe. He _was_ incredibly sexy, so there would be no lack of desire. So, even if you couldn’t love him, you _definitely_ weren’t lying. 

You hoped.

”Well, then,” Will murmured, his face splitting into the first genuine smile you’d seen in a long time, “Consider me officially taken, Miss Senior Special Agent.” 

You captured his lips with your own, feeling something flutter in your chest. You’d never felt _that_ before. Of course, this was new and uncharted territory for you, so you suspected to have many firsts with Will. You hoped that he would feel as at ease with you as you wanted him to. 

Your mouth moved against his fluidly and gently, the kiss sweet and meaningful. Your arms wound themselves around his waist, feeling his body relax for the first time in weeks as he let himself melt into you. 

A soft thud and crinkle of plastic alerted you to something being dropped on the porch outside. You pulled back (Will’s lips followed you at first) to see Alana Bloom standing on the porch, eyes wide, star-struck to see you ensconced in Will’s arms. 

A bouquet of get-well flowers were laying abandoned on his deck at her feet, her fingers hovering at her side in her shock. Will disentangled himself from your embrace and straightened his sweater self-consciously. 

“Doctor Bloom,” he greeted lamely. 

You winced in sympathy. Will had been in love with Alana since before you could remember. You’d never told him, since it wasn’t your place, but Alana definitely wasn’t blind to his affection. She’d even returned it as far as you were aware. 

You looked at your shoes, shame prickling your cheeks with heat. _Sacrifices will have to be made._ You felt Will entwine his fingers with yours, giving himself strength as much as to comfort you. 

Alana cleared her throat uncomfortably before fighting to smooth her features. 

“Evening, Will. I was just checking in to see how you were holding up, but it seems you’re doing just fine. I was worrying over nothing.” 

Unspoken feelings of betrayal sparked the air between you. It said different things to you and Will. 

Between Alana and you, it seemed to scream, _I trusted you with my feelings, and you didn’t hesitate to pounce on him. You knew how I felt._ To Will, it said: _Gee, how long has it been? Two weeks, less?_

Alana blinked and smiled softly before turning on her heel to leave. Will’s call after her died in his throat. He really didn’t have anything to apologize for. She’d rejected him. Alana didn’t have any more of a claim over him than Hannibal or Jack did. Will sighed uncomfortably and turned to hug you again, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what felt like loss.

You fought to keep your thoughts in check, opting instead to comfort him. Your raging hormones would have to wait. You could have your first time with Will when he was in the mood. 

After a long moment of silence between you, he broke apart from you with a watery smile to open the screen for his dogs to come back inside. They jostled each other a little as they reentered the house, but otherwise settled back into their respective beds with little protest. Will sighed and, seemingly remembering that you were there, indicated towards the kitchen. You followed him with a reassuring expression, hoping that this wouldn’t be a hindrance for long. 

“Well, I can’t cook as well as Hannibal, but I hope that won’t deter you.” 

You laughed, your face splitting in a wide grin.

“Honey, _no one_ can cook like Hannibal. I won’t be disappointed just because you’re human.” You wiggled your eyebrows and offered him a wink as he returned your laughter. 

”Okay, that’s fair. Sometimes I swear Hannibal _isn’t_ human...” Will trailed off as he began filling a saucepan with water, momentarily lost in his thoughts. 

Desperately wanting to change the subject, you sighed dramatically at a notification on your phone. Will’s ears perked at that, sidling up beside you as he waited for his water to boil. 

“It’s that Freddie Lounds again, god-fucking- _damn_ it.” You huffed and showed him your phone. 

A fresh article was published on her website, plastered all over the home page. The introduction of the article was displayed front and center.  
  


**_ANGEL OF DEATH — THE FEMALE VIGILANTE WITH A VENDETTA_ **

**_by Freddie Lounds_ **

_Today, a new set of victims of the Angel of Death has been found. The FBI is astounded, as this work is over a month old. This begs the question: are they incompetent, or lazy? With the recent confirmation of the identity of one of the victims, Jonathan Jacob Miller (who has been well-known under his criminal alias, Phantom) we can be sure of a few things that her victims all have in common. They’re all male, have extensive rap sheets, and were taken while near their homes._

_Personally, and you know I don’t share my opinions unless I think they’re pertinent, so understand that this does not come lightly—personally, I think we should be thanking her.  
_

_She’s ridding the streets of dangerous criminals that the FBI refuses to put away. These men were all horrible people, accused of rape, extortion, murder, kidnapping—all of the most horrifying crimes known to humanity. I know I will shed no tears if the Angel of Death is never found; if anything, I feel a little bit safer knowing she’s out there, protecting her sisters and brothers from the evil that lurks in the hearts of men._

**[Read more...]**

You shook your head in disbelief and locked your phone irritably. Will tsked and went to salt and stir his water. 

“You know Freddie. Always has to fan the flames.” 

You scoffed, your lip curling in disgust. 

“But, doesn’t this worry you? With Freddie Lounds practically _condoning_ the Angel’s behavior, there’s an incredible danger of copycats who think they have some sort of a—a divine mission to rid the world of evil.”

Will shrugged thoughtfully, pouring ziti into the pot and stirring it before turning to face you.

“Yes, it _does_ worry me a little bit. But you know, what’s done is done. There’s nothing we can do about it now, except catch whoever’s doing the killing.” He offered you a soft smile. “And with our dream team doing the pursuing, I have no doubt that we can get it done.”

Will kissed your nose as he went to adjust the heat on the stove, missing the expression of admiration on your face as you reexamined the Lounds article. _A kindred spirit_. Perhaps this could go better than you thought.   
  



	3. Stress Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short interim chapter before the shit really hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double update?! What?! Amazing lmao

It had been so long since your last kill— _too_ long—but you didn’t dare to make a move with the FBI crawling all over the place. You were too smart to think you were safe yet. It was the FBI’s own fault for taking their sweet time to find Jonathan and his secretary, but now you were undeniably, irrevocably stuck. 

So, instead of murdering, slicing, and dicing, you decided to work out your stress and boredom through the immutable Hannibal Lecter. 

Well, that is to say, you were riding him like a cowgirl on a bull. 

He growled callously as you shifted position, your impatience drawing forth a smirk from the comparatively calm man. Today he had elected to allow you all of the control for once—a rare and well-deserved treat that you would not let go to waste. Your fingers worked your clit as your hips stilled and you tightened your legs around his waist, enjoying the pulse in his dick as you worked yourself into your first orgasm of the night. He shuddered as he exploded into the condom, filling you with the extra heat as it spilled out the bottom to coat his testicles in his own fluids. 

You dismounted him with a satisfied moan, only to remove his condom and begin licking him clean. He grunted and struggled to keep his composure, sitting up and burying his hands in your hair. He offered an amused chuckle as you continued your ministrations. 

“Tonight is _your_ night, Agent—is there a reason you’re wasting it on me, or are you buttering me up for something?”

You hummed as you took all of him, feeling his tip brush the back of your throat. You fought aggressively against your gag reflex, the sight earning a positively unholy sound from Hannibal. With a satisfied _pop_ you pulled off of him with a smirk.

” _That_ sound—that’s what I was looking for.” You impishly patted his thigh. “Now, then, Hannibal, I believe you owe me some more orgasms, if you please.”

Hannibal grinned predatorily and pulled you up to straddle him as though you weighed nothing. He rolled down a fresh condom and promptly sank you into him, rotating his hips more slowly and deliberately this time. 

“How is our dear Will doing, by the way?” Hannibal asked with a knowing quirk of his brows. 

You sighed and let your forehead fall against Hannibal’s.

“He’s doing a little better. I think he will actually open up to me soon, if things keep going as well as they are. I might even get to bed him within the month.” 

“Oh, how would you ever survive without me?” Hannibal notes dryly. “Within the _month_? Can’t you speed things along a little? It will be so much more helpful if you get there sooner rather than later.”

You squeezed his hips with your thighs as you twisted deliciously. 

”I’m taking my time with Will. I think he prefers it a little old-fashioned.” 

”Oh, no doubt.” Hannibal paused, his hands moving to grace your breasts with surprising tenderness. “I just worry that your... proclivity towards boredom will endanger our dear Mr. Graham.” 

To illustrate your point, you ground your hips to elicit a moan from Hannibal. 

”The only thing that will endanger Will Graham is what he doesn’t know about us,” You shot back. “Particularly our little arrangement... and your appetite.”

Hannibal captured your mouth with his, your tongues warring for dominance as you kissed him roughly. Still, it was never destructive. In fact, the longer you kissed, it almost became... loving. Well, more accurately, as close to loving as the two of you were capable of. _Trusting_. 

”You promise not to hurt Will Graham, and I will endeavor to do the same.” Hannibal stated finally. “He matters a great deal to me. Perhaps not as much as you do, my little monster—but definitely enough for me to threaten you to keep your promise.” 

You chucked and bit his lip playfully as you increased your pace. 

”Darling, I wouldn’t _dream_ of you doing anything less.” 

With that, the time for talk between monsters was over; Hannibal thrust into you with renewed ferocity, his fingertips embedding themselves in the suppleness of your flesh. Bruises formed at his touch, but it felt so good that you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

Hannibal rocked against you in a hurried rhythm, your bodies keeping pace with one another in some unholy synchronicity. Hannibal’s voice raised with increasing urgency as he continued to pound into you, the pull of your walls bringing him close to the edge of ecstasy. He worked your clit between his fingers and the two of you came at the same moment, the shocks of your releases enough to make you collapse into each other and remain entwined even as he began to soften. You kissed him breathlessly, the need urgent as you clawed at his chest and shoulders. Hannibal bit your lip and tweaked your breasts, feeling himself beginning to harden again as he stirred within you. 

You nearly sobbed from the overstimulation, but he wasn’t done with you yet. His lips moved to your neck to pepper the skin with soft, feather-light kisses—only to transition to deep bites and hickies that would make any unfortunate onlookers to blush. Hannibal lapped at the blood with an uncouth groan of pleasure, his hands prying at the wounds and painting a picture in your blood. 

You had a brief moment to wonder how you would explain such lovemarks to Will before you succumbed to the throes of Hannibal once more.   
  



	4. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia does her best to try to talk Hannibal down.

“Are you sure this is in his best interest?” Her smooth voice never failed to make Hannibal feel like himself. 

His therapist centered him, made him feel understood—at least, that’s what he told himself.

“I have no ill will toward him. I simply wish to act as an oasis to him, to allow his recovery to occur as quickly as possible.”

Dr. Du Maurier raised an eyebrow ever so subtly, unimpressed. 

“Many things are true about you, Hannibal—but your self-professed ‘pure intentions’ are a bald-faced lie.” 

She allowed herself a half-smile, her lips quirking in amusement at Hannibal’s expression of, dare say, betrayal. 

“Aren’t you supposed to take my side, old friend?”

She laughed once, a sound that was not quite bitter, but held all the knowledge of a woman too wise to make the same mistake twice. 

“Only if my patient is right.” She tilted her head to the left, her piercing eyes seeming to see into the very depths of his soul. “Hannibal, as your psychiatrist _and_ your colleague, I must ask you to walk away. Let Will find his own path. You mentioned he was seeing one of your other patients, yes?”

Hannibal nodded, his fingertips grazing the stubble at his jaw as he did. 

“I want you to do me a favor. Instead of incessantly worrying over Will’s existence like a mother hen, I want you to focus on your _real_ patients. You and Will simply have ‘conversations’, as you put it—so, stop trying to treat him, and simply be his friend.”

She waited for him to protest. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but ultimately, no sound came from him. 

“Do not look so defeated, Hannibal. There are ways you can help him without being his psychiatrist.”

Dr. Du Maurier’s eyes softened at Hannibal’s aura of loss. 

“I want you to be happy, Hannibal. I always have. But I desperately need you to take a step back, and let Will recede from your life—this obsession you have with him is unhealthy. It’s affecting how you treat and approach your other patients. He’s a detriment to your wellbeing.”

Hannibal sighed in resignation, leaning forward to wring his hands. 

”I know you are right... and yet, I cannot bring myself to go through with it.” 

She closed her eyes momentarily, forcing her flare of frustration back down her throat. It would do no good to continue with rebukes and harsh words of wisdom. 

“Doctor Hannibal Lecter, you are one of the most brilliant psychiatrists I have ever had the pleasure of working with. I would like to consider you my friend, even if ’colleague’ is a more accurate descriptor for our relationship. I know you very well—at least, I know the facade that you allow me to see. You care about Will, in your own roundabout way. 

Perhaps, think of it like this: entrust Will’s safekeeping to this—this—is it a woman? This new relationship he has become a part of. It may help you to ease your worries about him if you discuss his wellbeing with his new partner.”

Hannibal hid his smile behind his hand smoothly, becoming stone before the doctor’s eyes once more. 

”I will do my best, Bedelia.”

She leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs gracefully, clicking her pen as her elbow rested on the arm of her chair. She replied with a soft, reassuring tone.

”Thank you, Hannibal. That is all I ask.” 


	5. Exit, Pursued by a Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love letters between serial killers—my, what a dangerous game to play.

You felt your stomach lurch as you took in the crime scene for the second time in 24 hours. Hannibal had invited you the night before to view his handiwork—it was riveting, indeed, but not nearly as breathtaking as the feeling of Hannibal fucking you raw in a puddle of blood that was not your own. 

You struggled to keep down your lunch as you took in the carnage. You weren’t a lightweight by any means—your _hobbies_ were proof enough of that—But _this?_ This was a little much, even for you. 

Hannibal had called it his aria. As Will struggled to look at it directly, you wondered if he would see it the same way. 

_A love song for one out of reach_. His words echoed in your mind, your core aching in response.

”They’re— _toying_ with one another.” Will stated. His expression showed no sign of doubt. “Likely, this killer knows the one who committed the other murders. I don’t want to sound overly romantic or hype it up more than it should be—but _I_ think we have a Romeo and Juliet situation.” 

_Holy fuck how is he this good oh my god I want him right fucking now—_

You took a sharp breath and settled on uttering a small _oh_ under your breath. 

”I know how it sounds, but _think_ about it! Two killers, who know each other’s identities—they can’t oust the other, as it may lead us to them, as well—so, they settle upon having clipped interactions, such as this. Messages, coded in blood and bone.” 

This time, you couldn’t stop the word vomit. 

”Will, do you have any condoms at your place?” 

His ears burned as he nodded ever so slightly.

”Good, because when we get home, I’m climbing you like a tree.” 

Bev snickered along with Jack. 

”Gee, it’s as though they were _made_ for each other,” Bev muttered under her clipboard. “ _How_ did we _not_ notice the sparks flying before?”

Jack laughed humorlessly. 

”We tend to ignore that which we do not wish to see.” 

That drew you to pause and look off into the middle distance dramatically. 

”Jack—say that again.”

”We ignore that which we don’t want to see..?”

Your eyes glazed as you paced a little, muttering to yourself. If Hannibal would play with your identity, then who was to stop you from having a little fun of your own?

To lead them riiiight up to his front door, so close they can almost taste it—and then, lead them away in a different direction. It would be so delicious. 

”He’s right under our noses,” You exclaimed. ”He’s _gotta_ be, right? Someone with medical experience, someone who knows the inner workings of the government, so probably has background in law enforcement...” 

Will nodded along absently, eyes far away as he lost himself in thought. 

”We should ask Hannibal to write a profile for each of these killers—backgrounds, motivations, everything.” 

Jack nodded and left to make the call. Bev surreptitiously managed to step away as well, leaving you and Will alone with the crime scene.

You waggled your eyebrows at him teasingly. 

”So... Romeo and Juliet, huh?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, avoiding your eyes. 

”I’m not gonna live that down, am I?”

”Absolutely not,” You sang. “But, it it makes you feel better... I would still climb you like a tree.” 

Will deigned to meet your eyes and scoffed. 

“We’ll see about _that_ , won’t we?”

A smirk played on your face as your fingers tangled themselves in the soft hair at the base of his neck. Your eyes affectionately took in his face before you gave him a cute peck on the lips. 

”You know what they say—seeing _is_ believing.”

* * *

Hannibal glared down his nose at you from where he perched in his office. His long legs were stretched out in front of him as he leaned against the mahogany desk, his shrewd gaze enough to make you squirm--both from discomfort, and perhaps a small smidge of desire. 

"I know exactly what game you're playing, little one. I'd tread very lightly if I were you." 

Remembering yourself, you managed to scoff and wave at him flippantly. 

"Oh, it's so _cute_ how you think you know everything, Hannibal." You met his hawkish gaze and offered him a Harley Quinn smile. "Creatures such as we have a different way of doing things, though, wouldn't you agree? We don't leave anything to chance." 

You sighed dramatically as his facial expression tightened. With catlike grace, you drifted across the room to lean against his desk, your hip touching his, your face uncomfortably close as you studied him. Hannibal betrayed nothing, but his breathing suggested he wasn't as calm as he looked. 

"My dear, _dear_ Hannibal..." You widened your grin so that it became almost wolfish, "Why--the game has only _just_ begun."


End file.
